The Safer Place
by karebear
Summary: "I realize that if we had both chosen differently, we might have ended up doing the same thing, in a safer place, in gray clothes instead of black ones." AU.
1. Abnegation

"The hero is the one that stays."  
- Veronica Mars

She shivers as his fingers slide over her smooth skin, slipping under her shirt, pushing it upward. A flood of warmth surges through her, along with goosebumps, and guilt squirming in the pit of her stomach. He leans forward, careful, hesitant. His other hand gently cradles the back of her head. She is aware of nothing except for how _close _they are. She closes her eyes, afraid to look at him, and inhales, slowly. His lips brush over hers. She can taste something unfamiliar on his breath, something fruity and sharp, mixed in with the tingling harshness of baking soda toothpaste. It's then that she allows herself to recognize how slowly he's moving. When she pulls away from him, slipping under his arm, he stumbles, barely catching himself against the plain, empty wall of her bedroom. His body slams against it, hard, and she winces despite herself.

"Tobias, are you _drunk_?"

"Maybe," he slurs.

She shouldn't condemn him, she shouldn't judge, she shouldn't make him feel bad. Abnegation instincts war inside her; she manages to stop herself from saying anything, but she can't help the disapproving frown, the pounding knowledge in her brain that _this is not allowed._

She is willing to forgive him, of course. She'll always be willing to forgive him. It's what she's supposed to do, after all. But she skips hurriedly past the shadowy awareness that her acceptance of his weaknesses has nothing to do with her and everything to do with _him_. He is not just a young man in need of help. He's _Tobias_. Hers. _(This is not allowed.)_

"Bee-tris, I..." He stretches his hand toward her, open, palm up. She rests her hand overtop of his, tracing rough cuts and calluses. Some are new, even since yesterday.

"Tobias," she breathes. Her heart swells, bleeding with fear for him, this destructive tailspin he's pulling himself into. Worry nags at her, it _hurts_.

"S'nothing," he insists. "Cut myself... with the bottle. I think."

She brushes her lips over the cut, pulls his hand up to her mouth. He falls into her, pressing his body against hers. He smiles, and his eyes are hazy, he's drunk enough to forget that he's supposed to pretend he doesn't want this. She's long since stopped pretending to care about the rules they're breaking, even if they won't stop screaming in her head.

She pushes him carefully toward the bed, uncertain of his ability to stay standing for very much longer. He allows her to lay him down, and she can feel the heat of his breath on her neck as she lets him peel off her shirt. He balls it up and holds it in one hand, as she straddles him in just a bra. There is an illicit thrill in this, and her heart races just as quickly as it did when they'd done this the first time, when he'd followed her to the roof of her building the night after her Choosing. They'd sat up there until the twin red lights atop the Hub had winked out at midnight. Then, his touch had made her panic until she'd been certain she was going to throw up on his shoes. But even then, she'd known, felt the awareness vibrating through some core piece of herself deep within, that she belonged to him. Not to Abnegation, not really, but to _him_. He will keep her here, when nothing else is strong enough to do so.

Her hand rests just above his heart, beating steadily through his thin gray t-shirt. She can feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric. He smiles his lazy smile and she laughs, drawing in a quick breath, along with the courage to work the clasp of his pants. With that out of the way, she shifts her searching fingers to his waistband, pushing them down, excitement and warmth and want knotting inside of her and radiating outward to wrap her in a pleasant buzz.

Tobias whispers and nibbles at her ear, and she gets bolder. Her fingers lock around the small of his back, eager and racing forward, until she feels Tobias flinch. Her breath catches in her throat, and she instinctively pulls her hand away. She looks down to see her fingerprints lingering, sharp white contrasting with the dark bruise painting his pale flesh.

He shifts away from her, scrambling to pull his pants back on.

"Sorry," he mutters. "I... didn't think."

She pins him beneath her and stretches just enough to fumble with the shallow drawer under the table next to her bed. She pulls it open to grab a tube of medical cream. Tobias doesn't even bother resisting as she squeezes its contents onto her fingers and begins running them over the worst of it. He trusts her. She doesn't deserve it, but he does, and they've done this before, and that hurts more than anything else, a deep burn inside her chest, guilt and rage that threatens to swallow her. It takes effort not to hurt him when she feels this angry. She concentrates on that, slowing her breathing while his quickens at her touch. She can't pull away from the overlapping layers of wide welts and deeper bruises, individual marks that somehow blend into a general tapestry of pain, running from his lower back downward to cover most of his upper legs. No wonder he's moving so stiffly. No fucking wonder he'll drink whatever he can get his hands on.

_This is not allowed_.

Bile rises in her throat. He's told her, she's _seen_ _it before_, but it does not ever get any easier, it does not ever become acceptable or right. Tobias is an adult, older than she is by enough years that it should _matter_. She hates that it takes these moments when he breaks completely to remember that. She continues rubbing soothing cream over his skin as he moans beneath her, and wonders if that makes it better, or worse. "You can let yourself be in pain," she reminds him gently. "It's just me here." He won't though. He'll let her take care of him, because both of them were raised that way, but he will _not _let her pity him, and she doesn't let herself either. Not for long. His eyes meet hers for just a moment, until he breaks the contact and rolls away from her to pull his shirt over his head. She glances sideways, noting his dark expression. She doesn't have imagine the pure terror reflected there, mixed with shame and self-loathing. The knowledge that it's his _father_ doing this to him, that he has been doing it for years, since Tobias _was_ a child... the knowledge settles in the pit of her belly like a block of ice, something physical, writhing cold. Definitely worse.

There's a fine but critical line between "selfless" and "helpless," and Marcus Eaton has pitched his son over the line with vicious cruelty.

"Don't you _ever_ be sorry!" she snaps suddenly, her voice seeming to bounce off of the silent walls. She no longer cares about her loss of carefully-maintained control. Her breathing comes in harsh gasps as she chokes on her guilt and fear. "God, what the fuck is _wrong_ with you, Tobias?" Her heart hammers in her chest, shame choking her. He's just been beaten all to hell, and she's _yelling _at him? "You could have _left_," she insists, as tears sting her eyes and trace down her cheeks. She doesn't bother to wipe them away. "You could have _gotten out_."

He is two years older than she is; she didn't know him at all when he'd been sixteen, when he'd taken the test... She tries to remember his Choosing, if she'd even been there that year, but if she was, she can't remember anything about it. She has a vague recollection of him sitting alone at the initiation a month later, feet still bare and damp, the rest of his body cloaked in Abnegation gray.

"Why'd you stay?" he asks. He is fully clothed again, curled up with his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, leaning against the headboard of her bed. His voice is quiet, but it pierces through every defensive wall she's carefully constructed in her brain.

_This isn't about me_, she wants to snap, but she just shakes her head. "Someone had to," she says instead, keeping her voice even. Noncommittal.

"After Caleb, you mean? You did it for your family?"

She looks away, at the patch of gray winter-light let in by the room's one small window. It forms a neat rectangle on the bare concrete floor, and she lets her feet swing back at forth to cut through the sharp angles. "Why wouldn't I stay?" she murmurs, still refusing to look at him. She can feel the space between them, the space of years, the space of _not allowed_, a space that has never felt larger or more important.

"Because," Tobias says. "Someone who scored Abnegation wouldn't... wouldn't... You just don't belong here, okay?"

She freezes, and whirls her head back around to glare daggers at him, with all the anger she can muster, mixed with _fear_. Her heart pounds in her chest and a roaring surf pounds in her head, crashing against the edges of the box hidden in her mind that holds the word she is never allowed to say. And she's Abnegation enough not to spew back the retort that rattles behind her clenched teeth: that someone who scored Abnegation wouldn't get drunk, wouldn't carry a knife in his pocket, and _definitely _wouldn't sneak into her house while her parents are working to have sex.

"I scored Abnegation," she insists.

Tobias stares at her, but he does not disagree, and he finally nods. The gift he's giving her fills her with shame. He immediately accepts the lie, will not challenge it. She is _not_ Abnegation enough, apparently, to just let it be.

"Why did _you_ stay?" she demands.

Tobias shrugs. "Same as you," he insists. "For my family."

"Tobias, don't be an idiot," she pleads, weakly.

He will let her do what little she can to heal him, but they do not Talk About It. It's an arbitrary line, but it matters to him, so she wallows in silent guilt. The worst she's ever had to contend with is a lecture, maybe some extra chores. At her age, her parents don't have much say over her choices anyway. She's chosen Abnegation, and is accepted as an adult within the faction. She could move out into her own apartment, start her own life, whenever she wants to. She says she stays to take care of her parents, who are still reeling after Caleb's desertion. It is an expected Abnegation response. The truth is, she stays because if Tobias cannot leave his father's home, than she won't leave hers either. This is something that connects them. Or at least, she pretends it does. She pretends that it is a choice they are both making.

Once, she took a belt from her father's closet and lashed it down against her bare skin, to see what it felt like. It hurt, but not enough, because she was both expecting and controlling the pain, and she's too much of a wuss to go any further than a half-assed hit, a single bright patch of pink-red that faded within minutes. She could ask Tobias to show her, for real, but she knows he'd never do it and _honestly, Beatrice Prior, how fucked up are you?_

Fucked up enough, _Abnegation_ enough, that it kills her to see Tobias in pain, and not be able to take it away from him, onto herself. She should tell. She should tell her parents, there _has _to be a way.

She should tell, but Tobias begged her not to, and she is too selfish to give him up.

She can still smell the alcohol on his breath, his footsteps are unsteady, the sun is setting rapidly, the sky grows dark and dangerous.

The truth is _she is afraid_. So far, he has always been able to find her again. He looks like hell half the time, but so far, despite the intensity of his fear, he does not seem to believe that his father would _really _hurt him, beyond welts and blisters and bruises. They heal, they leave no lasting scars. The blood, the thin, careful cuts, are his own doing. She knows without needing to ask him; he won't admit it and she won't force him to. But as she traces one of those fading lines across his wrist, dread pumps through her heart, fear of the day when he loses his balance; drinks too much, cuts too deeply, loses all control.

"I'm gonna go home," he slurs.

"Tobias - "

"If I stay, you'll get in trouble," he insists. It is his excuse, it is the truth. Taking it from him would take away whatever scrap of pride he still manages to cling to, and she won't do it. She'll let him protect her, because although he needs the help far more, she cannot give it to him.

"You belong here," she admits bitterly, as tears begin to spill again.

Tobias forces a smile. "I know."


	2. Dinner 1: Tobias

As he does practically every night, Tobias gives silent thanks that Abnegation values don't require him to speak to his father at the dinner table. He stirs his meal, a simple pasta and vegetable dish, around on his plate, taking a bite only when he can feel the eyes watching him. He chews and swallows monotonously.

"Where were you today?" Marcus asks softly. It's a direct question, one Tobias is required to answer. He swallows the food in his mouth and glances up, enough to acknowledge the question but not the direct eye contact that Abnegation avoids because it makes others uncomfortable, and his father in particular regards as a challenge. Despite how often Marcus insists that he doesn't learn his lessons, he knows better than to mouth off to his father, or openly defy him.

"I was distributing food to the factionless," he says smoothly.

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying. Sir." Tobias whispers.

His father's quiet voice intimidates him more than any Candor lie detector test. And he _had _given away a few sandwiches and packaged meals, a fair trade for the bottle of the liquor he can only find in the factionless sector.

His heart hammers in his chest, feeling impossibly loud in the dead silence of the room. After an interminable ten seconds that stretches into eternity, his father snorts softly, and takes another bite. Tobias bows his head and shovels a few more bites into his mouth. He wants nothing more than to finish eating as soon as possible and escape this claustrophobic room, but good table manners were beaten into him years ago. He settles into the rhythm without thinking about it, chewing and swallowing exactly often enough not to call attention to himself. He finishes his meal before Marcus does - another expectation that hasn't needed to be put into words since he was eleven - and he begins to clear the table, washing the dishes and boxing up the intentionally created leftovers to give to others in need.

Marcus disappears while he is still working, headed for the small office installed in the empty bedroom that was supposed to be for the younger sibling Tobias never got to have. Or at least, that's where Tobias figures he's gone, until he shuts the refrigerator and starts up the stairs, heading for his room.

"You were late getting home," Marcus says, conversationally. His voice barely carries from the living room to the stairwell three feet away, but it freezes Tobias. He turns around slowly, hope and fear mixing in a shock of adrenaline that pulses through his body. If his father is not already holding the belt, he may still be able to talk his way out of this.

No such luck.

The air leaves his lungs in a slow deflation as soon as he recognizes the shape of the leather strap curled around his father's fist. He tries to convince himself that it's better this way, because all of his excuses involve the Priors in one way or another, and he can't rely on them too much without putting Beatrice in danger. His selflessness lasts about as long as it takes for the belt to lash down the first time, with a crack that explodes against his skin.

Tobias knows his father suspects something but can't prove it, because the punishment is worse than it should be. Each blow steals his breath away, their intensity makes his head swim. He bites his lip so hard he can taste blood, but he can't help the tears that leak from his eyes, and he doesn't try. He concentrates on absorbing the pain, not breaking position, because he is a fucking _model citizen _by now, accepting the discipline that he knows he deserves, because guilt is a tool that teaches you how to do better. Marcus is predictable. If Tobias doesn't give him a reason to keep going, he'll stop before... he'll just _stop_. It's been years since he fought against a whipping. As soon as he stopped, the closet filled up with coats and boxes. He'll take any victory he can get.

Marcus cracks the belt down over and over, aiming low, so that each blistering strike hits the sensitive flesh of his bare thighs. It hurts like a motherfucker, but Tobias doesn't curse or yell or break his own rule against self-incrimination. If his father _really_ knew where he's been spending his time, he'd let him know it. Marcus gives him a couple more hard licks and then orders him to his room. Tobias all but runs to obey, knowing that if he plays it right, he won't have to see his father until the next morning.

He crawls onto his bed and focuses on his breathing, inhaling and exhaling slowly, until his shallow, shaky breaths normalize and the quality of the pain changes from a searing burn to something deeper and more constant, a dull throb that is familiar enough that he can forget about it as long as he doesn't move. It's too early to sleep, but there is no window in his bedroom to escape from, and nothing else to do. He's not in school anymore, so he can't even use the need to study as an excuse for keeping a couple of books on his one small shelf. And the adrenaline is rapidly bleeding from his system, along with the very last of whatever buzz the bottle of cheap liquor had fed him. His eyes slip closed and he gives in to exhaustion, angry and disappointed in himself for being such a coward that he'll take the safest option, and find it so easy to rationalize.


	3. Dinner 2: Beatrice

Beatrice stirs her vegetables around on her plate and glares at them as though they have personally wronged her. She stabs angrily at a piece of broccoli, but doesn't lift it to her mouth.

"Beatrice?"

She blinks, aware of the sudden _lack _of her parents' quiet chatter filling the empty space in the room. She clears her throat, and her face flushes with embarrassment as she glances up just enough to realize that are both staring at her.

"What?" she snaps. Her fork slips out of her hand and clatters loudly against her plate. She winces, and straightens her posture slightly. It's not her parents' fault that she can't get Tobias Eaton out of her head.

"I'm fine," she insists, convincing absolutely no one. "Just tired," she adds lamely. "Initiation." Candor was the first faction her aptitude test ruled out. "How was your day?" she asks, grateful for once that Abnegation expects her to deflect questions about herself.

But her father simply smiles, an expression that doesn't reach his worry-clouded eyes.

"We've just told you, Beatrice," her mother says gently. "Weren't you listening?"

"No," she admits immediately, quietly, and she squirms with guilt. For a moment she feels like she's six-years-old instead of sixteen. Her parents don't even _look_ disapproving, but she knows they must be. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"It's alright," her father tells her. "We're just worried about you."

"Don't be," she tells them, both because it's expected that she think about them over herself and because she doesn't _want_ the attention. Her eyes dart between her mother and her father until she is a breath away from spilling the truth of her fears. Her teeth clack loudly as she snaps her mouth shut, and she slides out of her chair and reaches for her father's empty plate. She clears the table and washes the dishes without thinking about it, stepping aside to give her mother space when she joins her in the kitchen.

"Beatrice, are you happy here?" Natalie asks softly.

"Yes," she replies, much too quickly. Her mother's frown proves that she's not fooling anyone.

"I _am_," Beatrice insists, because the disappointment she sees on her mother's face _crushes _her. She reaches out without thinking, resting her hand over top of her mother's. Her heart pounds rapidly inside her chest, because she is all too aware that casual physical touch is _not _an Abnegation-oriented response. Sixteen years, and she is still doing things differently, she is still _wrong_.

But her mother just squeezes her tightly, pressing her close against her chest and stroking her hair. Beatrice lets her eyes close as she breathes in the familiar scent of her mother's soap. She can't remember her mother hugging like this since she before she'd started school. It should make her uncomfortable, but it doesn't.

"I love you," Natalie whispers, her voice a quiet murmur that Beatrice can barely hear. "You know that, don't you?"

She nods, and her mother pulls away, picking up a towel and beginning to dry the waiting stack of plates, as though nothing unusual had happened.

Beatrice watches her for a moment, but the Abnegation compulsion against staring leads her to look away after only a few heartbeats. Half-formed questions nip at the edges of her mind, and the quiet tugs at her, screaming to be filled. She stuffs her hand into her pocket and squashes her worries about Tobias down into her secret-box, along with everything she'll never say about the empty space Caleb left behind.

"I'll finish here, Mom," she says, because she wants to be alone and the easiest way to get there is to offer to _do _something. It feels less selfish that way.

Her mother nods and hands her the towel, and somehow manages to make Beatrice feel guilty even without trying. When she watches how easily her mother _fits _into Abnegation life, it makes it even more obvious how much she _doesn't belong._ The awareness is constant, so strong that it _hurts_, like a crushing weight on her chest.

She finishes her simple chore and slips past the living room where her parents sit quietly in front of the crackling warmth of the fireplace. She slows for a moment, halfway up the stairwell, aware of her father watching her. She glances backward, but he says nothing, and she hurries up the rest of her way, disappearing into her bedroom.

The city lights pulse like bright stars through her small window. She watches them for a while, drumming her fingers on the windowsill, tension coiled inside her like a spring. After a moment, she sprawls onto her bed. The sheets are still a tangled mess; she hadn't bothered to fix them after Tobias left. She rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling. When she closes her eyes, she can smell him, alcohol and sweat and a hint of something metallic. She can feel the vibrations of the train roaring past, close by; she listens to its dying horn. Her breathing slows, and she concentrates on the calm feeling she needs so desperately to hold onto, inhaling deeply and exhaling until there is nothing left inside her, then doing it again. Another train rumbles and shakes her as its wheels roll along the tracks. Beatrice blows out an impatient sigh, pulls her shoes on, and slips carefully from her second-story window into the chilly night.


	4. Aptitude

Beatrice wanders aimlessly through dark streets of the Abnegation section of the city, instinctively hopping over the cracks and potholes that litter the uneven pavement. A warm glow of light pools out from the windows where families are gathered, but she ignores them and keeps walking. It doesn't take long to get out beyond that relatively small circle of safety. She wraps her jacket tighter around herself and blows out puffs of air that disappear quickly into the night. The sky is clouded and starless, although if she makes a point to look for it, she can find the steady on-and-off of the Hub's artificial heartbeat, its red pulse possibly the one thing that unites the entire city.

She walks underneath that steady, comforting light, matching her steps to its tempo, not feeling anything. It's only when it suddenly stops that she realizes what that must mean. Midnight. She's been out here for hours. Her parents must be worried. She stops walking, and her exhaustion catches up with her all at once, an ache in her legs, a heavy weight that drags her eyelids down. The train whistles pull her home, because, at least for tonight, she is not selfish enough to walk away.

Sunlight streams into her bedroom far sooner than she's ready for it. She groans, rolling over and blinking her eyes open, but her body will not allow anything as self-indulgent as remaining in bed. She strips yesterday's clothes off and drops them carefully into the basket of laundry she will wash later, then takes a quick shower under lukewarm water and dresses. Her parents have already gone to work, another thing to feel guilty about. It was her turn to make breakfast. She finds a bowl of fruit and a full coffeemaker waiting for her in the kitchen, with a note from her mother that manages to convey worry with no words other than "Good Morning."

Beatrice pours herself a mug of coffee, black, the only way it's offered in Abnegation, and drains it without tasting anything. She fills her bag with food and clothes for the factionless and heads out, grateful that the service hours required by her initiation process will keep her too busy to think, and that the norms of her community will prevent most people from trying to talk to her. She sleepwalks through the day, through dinner with her family, letting the habits ingrained in her carry her, shrugging off questions. She could do this, fall into the role everyone expects of her until she forgets why it doesn't work. But her stomach churns with the same general anxiety that's haunted her for most of her life, sharpened into one word that stabs her every time she allows herself to think about it. _Divergent_. No matter how desperately she tries, her Abnegation eyes are drawn to the lights of the passing trains, searching for some kind of color, _something_ to pull her up before she drowns in the neverending gray. She wonders if this is how Caleb felt, what might have happened if either of them had been brave enough to talk about it. Is he... Divergent, too? Or has he always known where he belonged, and known it wasn't here?

She shakes her head, and makes a decision, the same one she repeats every day: today is not the day she leaves, but it's not the day she stays either.

She stuffs her knuckle into her mouth and chews on it as she walks, shadowed by the train tracks that run above her head. She follows them, even without meaning to.

"Beatrice." She spins around, her heart beating faster, a smile illuminating her face for the first time all day. Tobias' presence recharges her, and she laughs, runs, dares him to follow her. She pulls herself up the rickety maintenance scaffolding to the overhead tracks. Tobias follows, slower, carefully. He hovers nervously, a step or two behind her, as she balances along the metal catwalk.

"You okay?" she laughs, hopping from tie to tie. She is not supposed to do this. Tobias won't care.

He nods, but the motion looks uncertain, like he has to force himself to make it, and his eyes are still wide, trained on the open space beyond the track, the gaps she jumps over without fear. Beatrice frowns, suddenly, belatedly, aware that he really _isn't _okay.

Tobias blows out a breath and picks out a careful path to the narrow concrete slab where she waits. When he sits down beside her, he pulls his feet up against his chest and stares over the edge. "I just don't like heights, okay," he snaps, his voice turning the admission into a challenge, daring her to say something about it.

She wonders how she's never noticed before. Nearly every time she's met him, it's been in the places where she feels free: rooftops, construction scaffolding, and the empty tracks of the L.

She shrugs, and jumps down, landing roughly but catching herself with a grin. She grounds herself before she can regret it, because she may be comfortable up there, but he isn't. And she wants him to feel safe, with her, as safe as she feels with him.

Tobias climbs carefully down the ladder and glares at her. "You're insane," he accuses.

"Look who's talking."

She'd meant for it to come off as a lighthearted joke, like his, but there is a sharp edge of accusation to the remark.

"Still think I should've joined Dauntless, do you? Because it's so fucking brave to run away."

"You think the shit you pull is _brave_? How..." she draws in a deep, shaky breath. "What happened last night?" she manages to ask, with a voice barely louder than a whisper.

"It wasn't... bad," Tobias insists, stumbling just slightly over the words.

"Tobias..."

"For fuck's sake, Beatrice. You're not my mother!"

The word explodes between them, like a firework, like the crack of a belt. The void of silence left behind squeezes her chest so tightly she chokes on it. Tobias stares at her, neither one of them will look away.

His mouth is still slightly open, as though he can't quite believe what he just said. Evelyn Eaton died when Tobias was nine years old, and in the nine years sine then, Beatrice has not heard a single person talk about her. Especially not Tobias.

Abnegation instinct tells her to apologize, but this isn't her _fault_.

"I _care_," she says instead. "I care about you." Tears sting her eyes as she launches all of her anger and fear directly at him. She can't keep it bottled anymore, it'll rip her apart. Maybe Tobias is right, maybe he is braver than she is. Because she should stop, and she _knows it_, but she can't. Maybe she'd have fit in as a Candor after all. "You sure as hell don't make it easy, but I do," she mutters. Her gaze has dropped away from him, to the weed-strewn lot at the borderline of the factionless sector, just across the broken street from where they stand. "It's a damn good thing one of us does," she snaps, to the graffiti-strewn concrete wall.

"You think I don't care?" Tobias demands. His voice is quiet, but it holds her. She couldn't walk away if she wanted to, and her stomach clenches, because she's heard that tone before. He sounds like his father.

"I don't know what to think," she admits.

She needs to _move_, to get away from him, to get away from _this_. She walks without caring where she's going, feeling Tobias' eyes on her the entire time. She wants him to walk away, she wants him to follow her... she doesn't know _what _she wants. She's always been better at asking questions than answering them.

"Beatrice, wait." She stops, immediately, her heart sinking as she does so. Following orders. She's more Abnegation than she thought. Tobias fumbles for something hidden beneath his loose-fitting, dark gray jacket. The bottle, hidden inside it's crumpled paper wrapper, draws her eye immediately. Smooth, heavy glass, reflecting the city lights.

"Is it good?" she asks warily.

Tobias laughs, a sudden, genuine burst of sound that startles her. He shakes his head. "No," he tells her honestly. "It's awful. But I bet you'll like it anyway."

He offers her the bottle, since they have nothing to pour the liquor into. She copies his movements, tilting it back to let the drink slide down her throat, until she nearly chokes. Her eyes water, and she grips the bottle tightly and glares at Tobias. But the alcohol fills her with a warmth that starts from the middle of her belly, and spreads. Tobias wraps his arms around her and she leans against his strong chest, neither of them caring about the rules against this as they pass the bottle back and forth.

"Still think you belong in Abnegation?" he teases, as the world spins around her.

"Do you?" she retorts.

He shrugs, and throws the bottle against the concrete as hard as he can. It shatters, sending shards of glass to rain down over their booted feet.


	5. Selfless

"Last chance," Tobias whispers. "You could quit, you know?"

He's made the joke before, but the way he sounds now... it's serious. _He's _serious. They're curled up together in an alleyway, where no one will look for them.

"You could leave," Beatrice replies evenly. Tobias holds her gaze, and nods. "You won't, though."

He doesn't answer, but he doesn't need to.

Beatrice takes a calming breath and tries to pretend her stomach isn't twisting itself into a knot. Tobias plants a gentle kiss on the top of her head before breaking away, to disappear into the crowd of the neighbors and friends that will soon be arriving to celebrate Initiation Day.

Abnegation's main gathering space doesn't look like anything special. It's a block of gray concrete, slightly larger than their individual dwellings, but small enough that they have to squeeze together to fit everyone inside for meetings. Inside, the hall is buzzing with noise: raised voices, excited murmurs, even laughter, the kind of relaxed comfort and sense of community no one else expects from their faction. Beatrice allows herself to smile as her father squeezes her hand. There are times, _sometimes_, when it feels like this is what she wants. She breathes in the positive charge of the atmosphere and hopes she can make it last.

Abnegation is a small faction, close-knit. There are only three other sixteen-year-olds on the simple wooden bench with Beatrice, and like her, all of them were raised in this community. Hardly anyone ever transfers into Abnegation. Between her and Susan, there is a space that neither of them will shift to fill, not _quite_ large enough for anyone to actually sit, but somehow, they cannot let go of the idea that Caleb is _supposed _to be there. Beatrice traces the groove of the wood in that space with her fingernail, and wonders if he's happy. She has no idea what the Erudite ceremony is like, what they require of their new members. She wonders if thinking of her absent brother, a rival now, is better or worse than thinking about herself.

The soft chatter of the room silences immediately without any prompt that Beatrice is aware of, and Marcus Eaton walks the few footsteps from his chair to the empty patch of carpet waiting in the center of the room. Beatrice glances at him but doesn't stare, and struggles to keep herself from making it obvious how much she hates the man. She wants to scream at everyone around her that he shouldn't get to be their leader, but she can't. She looks for Tobias instead, and sees him sitting across the room from her, with his head bowed, still and silent, perfectly obedient, _perfect_ Abnegation.

Marcus clears his throat softly and begins to recite the Abnegation creed, from memory. Tobias doesn't move.

_"I will be my undoing, if I become my obsession. I will forget the ones I love if I do not serve them..."  
_

Beatrice finds her mouth moving to match the words, because she's heard them often enough, for as long as she can remember.

_"I will war with others if I refuse to see them.  
Therefore I choose to turn away from my reflection,  
To rely not on myself, but on my brothers and sisters..."_

For as long as she can remember, they've sounded cold, and slightly scary, like a hidden threat.

"... _To project always outward  
Until I disappear."_

When she was four years old, she'd grabbed onto her mother's shirt and cried in the middle of a faction meeting, afraid that she would turn invisible, like the ghosts in the stories the Dauntless kids in her kindergarten class liked to tell, as they ran around chasing everyone else. She'd forgotten about that completely. As Marcus finishes the recitation, Beatrice meets her mother's eyes, just briefly, and wonders if she remembers.

As faction leaders, her parents are among the first to begin the next part of the quiet ceremony, filling a simple bowl with water and bending down to wash the feet of the teenagers who have chosen to become full members of Abnegation.

The air inside the room is still and stifling, and it clings close to Beatrice's skin, like a fog. The lukewarm water inside the bowl feels cold by contrast. She dips a toe in and watches the ripples that trail in the wake of her gentle movement. If she stretches, she can see her reflection in the water. She pulls back, because today of all days, she is not supposed to want to.

She tries to pretend that this isn't awkward, but people who have never touched her before in her life, who rarely even touch the people they are closest to, are touching her now. She doesn't look at anyone, except to give a halfhearted smile to those few who happen to meet her eyes briefly. And when Tobias' turn comes, it's even worse. His touch is like an electrical spark, a shiver that runs from his fingers massaging her feet all the way through her body. She bites her lip and forces herself not to look at him. It's not like she's not used to his hands on her body, the warmth of their contact, the way they just _fit, _together. But this is the first time they've ever touched in public, and everyone is watching. It can't look different, it can't be anything more or less than following the script, fitting themselves into Abnegation expectations. Beatrice doesn't breathe until Tobias moves on to Susan, then stands up at joins the rest of the faction's adult members.

She sits with the other new faction members instead of her family for dinner, for the first time. Her parents sit at a table with Marcus and Tobias, and even from across the room she can tell that the conversation is polite but strained in the way that only Abnegation seems to manage. Tobias says nothing at all, silent and respectful in the presence of his elders.

Beatrice accepts the reserved congratulations given by her neighbors and faction members, but her attention returns, over and over again, to the other table, and as soon as she can get away with doing so, she excuses herself, clearing her own plate as well as the few other empty ones from the table.

She sits down, between her parents and across from Tobias. Marcus smiles at her, but the expression doesn't meet his hardened eyes. She smiles back, just as falsely, and turns away. She is aware of her mother's always-discerning gaze passing between the two of them, but, as expected, neither of them say a word.


	6. Candor

There is a list of things that Beatrice _should_ do, after the Initiation Ceremony. She should stay to help clean up, she should spend the evening with her family, she should do pretty much anything other than stroll up to Tobias Eaton's front door. But the nagging whispers are easy to quiet: she knows, with a certainty that goes beyond thought into feeling, that there is nowhere else she needs to be more. There's definitely nowhere else she _wants _to be more. Yet she still feels shy as she pushes her way through the front door, left unlocked. Tobias glances up, not moving from the functional-not-comfortable chair he's currently occupying.

"Don't worry, he's out," he offers, by way of greeting. "Important Government Stuff, you know how it is. If I'm lucky, I won't see him for a few days."

Beatrice has absolutely no idea what she's supposed to say to that. "What if you're not lucky?" she asks, finally.

Tobias shrugs, and pushes himself up, begins walking into the kitchen. Their houses are laid out identically, but the Eaton's somehow seems darker, colder, less lived in. Maybe it's her imagination.

"I'm a big boy, Prior. I don't need your protection. I'm pretty well used to taking care of myself."

"You're not supposed to _have to_. That's the point!"

Tobias snorts. "How very Abnegation of you."

He pours a cup of coffee and slides it her way without asking if she wants it. She wraps her hand around the mug, wishing he didn't feel like he had to. Like Caleb, Tobias doesn't have to _try_ to figure out how someone from Abnegation is supposed to act. But Caleb's in Erudite now, and when Tobias does it, it makes her feel guilty and worried rather than comforted.

She runs her thumb up and down the smooth ceramic surface of the mug, feeling its warmth against her skin. She stares at Tobias through the steam rising in heavy curls from the hot liquid. He didn't pour himself anything, even though she knows he could use it, probably more than she could, and a quick glance at the coffeemaker proves there's more than enough.

"Yeah, you wanna talk about that?" she asks pointedly. "What the hell happened to you, at the ceremony? It's like you weren't even there."

Tobias picks up the coffee spoon she's not using and flips it up and down between his fingers. He blows out a heavy sigh. "You know, despite whatever your opinion of me is, I don't actually go looking to give Marcus an excuse." He's trying too hard to make it sound casual. Beatrice notices the tension in his muscles, the way he still won't meet her eyes. "We've got an... understanding," Tobias admits. "He needs a good, wholesome, perfect Abnegation kid to show off so the Erudite don't explode everything or whatever. So, I don't make him look bad in public."

Beatrice chews on her lower lip, the coffee all but forgotten. A thousand questions she doesn't want the answers to swim in her mind. _Or what? _being the primary one. The fact that she's pretty sure she _knows _doesn't help at all.

Tobias finally stills his jittery motion and really _looks _at her, for the first time since that afternoon, when she was still an initiate. "It's not that hard to fake it," he insists.

"That's what you were doing? Faking it?"

"I dunno, Beatrice," he says, with a shake of his head."Sometimes it's nice to lose yourself for a while. Don't you think?"

She _almost _lets him win, almost agrees with him, almost lets it all slide.

Because he could be right.

She forces herself to remember the quiet harmony of faction meetings where things just get _done_, because everyone's spent their lives learning how to clue in to what's needed, to offer help before anyone needs to ask. But she can't grasp at those straws for nearly long enough, because it hurts, deep inside her stomach, to recognize the complacency of these people all around her who are supposed to make her feel _safe_. Tobias isn't subtle, and today he was so unnaturally silent that he might as well have been _screaming _for help. She refuses to believe that she is the only person who has ever noticed that there is something _wrong. _

For _nine years_, Tobias has been losing, lost, and invisible. "No," she tells him, quietly, but forcefully.

Tobias rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I knew you chose the wrong faction."

"Not the way you do it," she insists, growing louder; more angry, more determined. "Not the way you're talking about! Tobias, it isn't _fair_! You don't have to let him win!"

"Just shut up, okay?" he snaps, harsh and cold. "You have _no idea_ what you're talking about."

Beatrice freezes, the air suddenly stolen from her lungs. It's not that she's never been afraid around Tobias, but she is aware, in some logical part of her brain that won't shut itself off, that is running above and outside of her emotions, that this is the first time that she has ever been afraid _of him_.

She pushes through the fear, crushing it beneath her anger because the only other option is letting them both team up to swallow her. And she's done that enough. It seems like it's all she's ever done since she met him. "I could, though!" she screams, forcing him to _listen_. "I could, if you trusted me!"

"It's not about trust!"

Tobias slams his fist down hard on the kitchen counter. Beatrice feels her heartbeat racing, but she doesn't flinch. She holds Tobias' gaze until he crumbles, collapsing in on himself with a shaky breath. "Damn it, Beatrice. Fuck, you know things that _nobody _else knows. But you don't know everything. And you won't. It's not about trust."

The weight of everything he's piling on her, whether he realizes it or not, is crushing. The space between them is suddenly a gaping chasm. Now, more than ever, Beatrice can _feel_ every rule Abnegation holds against physical contact. She starts to understand why her parents have spent her entire childhood warning her against getting too close, getting in too deep. Because for their faction, there is no such thing as a casual relationship. When Tobias hurts, _she hurts_. And when he tries to protect her from drowning in that fear by keeping secrets, or hiding, or outright lying, she sees right through it, and worries anyway.

"I just want to help you," she tells him, her voice breaking into a plaintive whine. "You keep telling me I don't belong in Abnegation, but for the love of God, Tobias, I want to help _you_."

Slowly, she becomes aware of the tears trailing down her cheeks, the shakiness of her breaths as she struggles to pull in air, the echoes of Tobias' steady exhalations in her ear, and the warmth of his arms around her. She claws at him, her nails scraping trails of shallow scratches down his arm as she tries to fight her way out of his grasp, but he holds her. Because he knows what she needs even if she doesn't. Damn him.

"You do," he whispers, as he holds her tightly against his chest. "You help enough, more than you know. Do you trust me enough to believe that?"

She nods, slowly, and the knot inside her chest begins to dissolve as she realizes that it's the truth.


	7. Divergent 1: Entropy

Beatrice wakes up suddenly.

Her eyes open and struggle to adjust to the _absolute_ darkness of the room, without even the moonlight obscured by thick clouds that halos her while she sleeps in her own bedroom. Tobias lacks even the small window that she takes for granted. She listens to the quiet of her heartbeat and Tobias' soft breathing against the back of her neck. But Tobias' breathing isn't what woke her up.

"Tobias?"

"Mmmm?"

As he rolls over, his arm slides off of her body, leaving her skin prickling with goosebumps, protesting the sudden lack of warmth. She pushes herself to a sitting position, wrapping the thin cotton blanket tightly around her shoulders as she tries to make sense of the noises she hears; urgent, penetrating cries for help that pierce right through to her gut before she can even sort through how she _knows_ that's what she's hearing. _Something is wrong._ On every level, the awareness rips at her attention. She hears screaming, and a loud, percussive rhythm, loud pops and snaps, and something like breaking glass. "_Tobias_," she hisses, more urgently. His eyes snap open and dart wildly around the room as he scrambles backward, flinging his arm up instinctively to protect himself. At least, Beatrice is pretty sure that's what she's seeing. She's watched the Dauntless sparring in the cafeteria enough times to recognize the move.

Her stomach clenches when she thinks about how Tobias learned it: he certainly hasn't been fighting the Dauntless in his spare time. His eyes meet hers for just a fraction of a heartbeat and he shakes his head slightly, lowering his arm. "Beatrice?"

She nods, and the panic and tension clearly visible in his body drains away.

Outside, the sounds grow louder, closer, and more chaotic. Tobias slips a shirt on over his head, moving quickly, and with a surprising sense of purpose. Beatrice struggles along behind him, getting dressed far less smoothly.

"What's going on?" Tobias asks, as she struggles to fit her left foot into its shoe.

Beatrice blinks. He'd been so confident, so certain in his movements and reactions, that she'd forgotten he's just as clueless as she is. She shakes her head, and Tobias frowns. "Sounds like... guns," he says, and she nods slowly, though in truth she has no idea if it does or doesn't, and she's not sure how Tobias would know either. Just the thought fills her with dread, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Guns are Dauntless weapons, there hasn't been a need for them in the city for generations. "Come on," Tobias insists, grabbing her arm and pulling her down the stairs to the first floor, where the windows in the kitchen and living room will give them some idea of what's happening.

The screams are louder here. Tobias shoves Beatrice down below the windowsill. He is stronger than she is, and he keeps her pinned to the ground despite her protests. "Shut _up_," he snarls. His breathing is heavy, and his voice is strained. Beatrice meets his eyes, and what she sees there freezes her far more effectively than his arm pressing down on her shoulder or his angry words. He is panicked, _terrified, _though he keeps his body still and carefully controlled. Beatrice stops struggling and shakes her head, afraid to ask what he's looking at. She can_ hear_; the screams are louder here, almost as though there are no walls between her and whatever is going on out there in the street. Tobias swallows hard.

"Soldiers," he murmurs. "Dauntless."

Beatrice nods. In their world, the words mean the same thing. But the Dauntless guard the fence. There is no explanation for their presence in the Abnegation sector.

There is a scream and a gunshot, simultaneously, and the quiet left behind in the aftermath leaves her shaking. Tobias draws in a ragged breath, but his hand curls into a fist. "They're just _shooting _people," he says, and his voice is deceptively, dangerously calm. "Just leaving their bodies in the street."

Raw fear claws at Beatrice's gut, and she pulls herself up above the windowsill before Tobias can stop her. Outside, dark red blood stains the familiar broken concrete. Bile rises in her throat. She has never seen a dead body before, and as she looks out she finds herself unable to count them all. Her gaze drifts from one broken human shell to another until she stops seeing them.

"Come on," Tobias says, again. The words snap her to alertness. Fear for herself turns to guilt turns to Abnegation need to _act,_ to take care of everyone else, to expunge the guilt; all so quickly that she barely registers the radical shift, except that it is being cataloged by that whispering nagging in her head, the _logical_ voice that asks...

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to _stop them_," Tobias demands.

"With what?!" Beatrice screams, as her fear snaps and breaks over her.

But Tobias doesn't answer. He crosses the small living room in barely two long strides, and pushes the front door open with all the force his body contains. For the first time, Beatrice begins to realize that he might not _need _weapons to stop someone, to hurt them. Fear thunders in her ears and she almost trips as she follows him into the street.

"Where is everyone?" she asks softly. Tobias shakes his head, and Beatrice follows him, clinging close to the walls of the concrete housing blocks, hiding in the shadows they cast, taking one step at a time. She focuses on the Tobias' steady movements, on his breathing. When he inhales, she does too. When he exhales, so does she. In between, they move forward, one foot on one crack in the sidewalk, then another. She nearly chokes on the smell of human decay; blood and sweat and shit and _fear_. Death.

She has always known that her life was carved in the wreckage of a dead city, the factions a last stand against the absolute annihilation of human war. She'd read the stories, over and over again, in history classes, since she was young. The _only _common goal all five factions share is the desperate certainty that they _cannot _let this happen again. Her heart hammers in her chest as she stands huddled in Tobias' shadow at the corner of the bizarrely empty street, and with strange clarity the knowledge settles inside her brain: they got it wrong.


	8. Divergent 2: Equilibrium

Beatrice walks without a plan. She walks because it's easier than standing still; if she is moving, the fear chases her instead of swallowing her whole. She walks until Tobias slams her against a wall, hard. Her head connects with the solid concrete and pain explodes. Her vision swims momentarily, and she gulps for air. But Tobias pushes her back, blocks her movement, and a moment later the steady tromping of heavy footsteps grows loud in her ears. As she watches, still dazed, a patrol of Dauntless soldiers passes. They look straight ahead; they don't notice her. Tobias chews on his lower lip and watches them walk by. He releases his hold on her; an apology she doesn't need words to understand.

Half a block away, visible only in shadowy impressions through the darkness of a city choked in fog and lacking street lights, Beatrice sees one of the Dauntless stop. He lifts his arm, holding it straight and steady. There is a sudden, explosive pop as he pulls the trigger of the gun in his hand, and a woman's body falls at his feet. He steps over it and continues walking, without blinking.

Beatrice hears a raw, primal scream: all rage and terror. It surrounds her and vibrates in her blood. Someone grabs her roughly, clamping a hand over her mouth. It's only then, in the sudden silence that she realizes the screaming voice was _hers. _She kicks and flails and fights, but she cannot break out of the hold the man has on her. Her fingers rip at his arms, her nails tearing through the thin fabric of his shirt and leaving bloody trails that stain through the gray. _Gray_. The shock of recognition hits, and she relaxes immediately, breathing heavily. After a moment, the tight grip on her slackens, though it does not disappear completely.

"What are you doing?" Marcus Eaton hisses.

"Leave her alone!" Tobias yells. Beatrice looks up, and her stomach ties itself into a knot. She rips her arm out of Marcus' grip, and stands between him and his son. Tobias stares his father down, his teeth clamped down on his lower lip. He holds a gun in his hand. The unmoving body of a young Dauntless soldier lays sprawled in the alley a few feet away. Marcus sighs, and when he speaks, he sounds _exhausted, _his voice heavy with the weight of everything that's going on around them. "You're not going to shoot me, Tobias."

"Why not?" Tobias' voice is absolutely steady. His fingers are wrapped tightly around the barrel of the gun. Beatrice swallows hard and looks from Tobias to Marcus, she is caught in between them, frozen in the chaos of the darkened street. She has never seen their Faction Leader look anything but calm, but _now_, he is anything but. It's Tobias who is completely unshaken, less than two paces away from his father. And holding a gun pointed directly at his chest, looking for all the world like he's done this before. "I'm serious," he says softly. "Give me _one reason_ why I shouldn't."

Before Beatrice can think about it, she grabs Tobias' arm and pulls it backward, jerking the gun's aim away from it's Marcus. Her fingers close over Tobias'. She does not pull away.

"What the hell, Beatrice?!"

She takes the gun from him, and waves it toward the bodies in the street, the shadows farther down where Dauntless soldiers are herding children into the meeting hall. "You promised me you were going to _stop this_," she insists. "Shooting him... _enough _people have died tonight!"

_And we need him_, whispers the sickening voice she doesn't want to listen to. _He's Faction Leader, and we need him_.

Tobias' grip on her arm tightens and she swears for a moment that he's going to wrestle the gun away from her, but he just nods, and lets go. She breathes again.

"Thank you," Marcus says softly, and she flinches. For a moment, she'd forgotten he was there.

"I didn't do it for you," she growls. "You don't _deserve_ his forgiveness."

"I didn't forgive him," Tobias insists. His eyes burn right through Marcus, and the man seems to dissolve beneath that unflinching glare. Something has shifted between them now, forever.

"Get away from us," Beatrice snaps. "I swear to God, if you _ever _come near him again, _I _will kill you."

Marcus' lip curls into an angry sneer. He stares her down, but her hand still clutches the gun. Marcus lets his eyes flicker to his son, for just a fraction of a heartbeat; then he nods. As Beatrice and Tobias watch, he turns around and follows the bloody trail leading to the central building where Dauntless in black clothes are still wrestling Abnegation children into silent, docile lines; shoving them ahead.

Beatrice shoots a cautious glance at Tobias. His face is an emotionless mask, and she doesn't have time to figure out if he's "faking it" or not. The street is quiet and the fog clings to her like a blanket. Usually she likes it, because the city is like that most nights and it feels familiar and comfortable and like home for a while, instead of a place that she's consistently trying to escape from. But tonight, it feels constricting, it restricts her vision, it swallows her whole. It scares her.

The fog swallows small noises so that the only thing she can hear are the loud pops that come from the guns, which are sometimes close and sometimes far away. Every time she hears one of those shots, her heart stops beating and freezes inside of her body. She shivers even though it isn't cold outside, because it's cold _inside_. Every now and then a shape solidifies out of the gray, enough to see movement haloed by the sparks of bullets in motion, enough to watch another person die. At the rate they are going, there will be nothing left of Abnegation by morning.

The Abnegation are not fighting back. They won't. Except that she hears a voice she recognizes, though she has never heard her mother shout and scream like this before. As they round the corner, she sees her: another gray-clothed woman forced to her knees, a gun pressed against the back of her head. Except, as Beatrice watches, _this_ woman catches the Dauntless soldier off-guard and fights him off with brutal hand-to-hand skills that no Abnegation should possess. As she wrestles the gun out of the Dauntless soldier's grip, Beatrice catches a glimpse of her face, and the determined, fearless anger reflected there makes her look like nothing like the gentle, loving mother Beatrice has known for sixteen years. But as their eyes meet for just a heartbeat frozen in the middle of this desperate fight, something resonates between them. Beatrice throws herself into the fray; acting without thinking, without feeling, without fear. She tackles the Dauntless soldier and screams at her mother to run. But when the blast of sound that heralds a gunshot crashes into her ears, Beatrice is slammed to the ground. She rolls to the side, and nausea churns in her stomach as she sees where the gun blast landed. Her mother reaches out for her with one hand, the other uselessly cradling her stomach, where blood blossoms out to soak her shirt.

"Mom!"

"Shh, Beatrice. I'm alright." Her mother holds her in her arms and strokes her hair, and Beatrice shivers in her arms as tears stream down her face. Her fingers trace her mothers pale skin as it grows colder. They scrabble at the edges of her gray shirt, where the bloodstain grows and darkens. She pulls the fabric away from her mother's body, seeking the wound, without quite knowing how she knows to do this. She shuts away everything except this order of logical steps.

1. Assess the situation.  
2. Apply pressure.  
3. Stop the bleeding.  
4. Call for help.

"Beatrice, stop." Her mother speaks in a quiet whisper, but Beatrice freezes. She looks down as her mother takes a few more ragged breaths. Her fingers splay across a darkened pattern: a tattoo; the black flames of Dauntless. She frowns, the question she's afraid to ask dancing on her lips. "I love you, you know," her mother whispers. "Always. No matter what." She squeezes her daughter's hand and her eyes slip closed. "Be brave."

"Mom!"

Beatrice yells again and again, not caring who hears her. This time, there is no answer.

She pounds her fists uselessly against the unyielding concrete where her mothers blood still pools, until her hands become bloody too, and she can't tell which blood comes from her and which doesn't. She runs her arm across her face to wipe away the burning tears, but they keep flowing. She chokes on them.

The Dauntless soldier watches her without reaction. His gun tracks her movements, but he does not pull the trigger. He must be responding to some kind of orders that Beatrice can't hear. She doesn't care. She launches herself at the boy with the gun and slams into him, knocking them both into the street, a tangle of limbs and flailing bodies as she punches and punches. She feels his bones snapping, his body folding beneath her. She hears a gunshot explode but feels nothing.

The boy moans. He stares up at her with eyes that darken rapidly; he takes a few harsh wheezing breaths. His blood pools out into the street. He dies while Beatrice walks away.

Tobias pulls her forward, back into the sheltered alleyway. She still holds the gun. It feels hot and heavy in her hand, some of the Dauntless boy's blood still stains it, making it slippery and hard to keep a grip on. But she grips it tighter and refuses to let go.

It doesn't protect her from the overwhelming force of Dauntless soldiers who come from out of nowhere, stopping in eerie unison and turning back to swarm around her. Tobias holds her tight against his chest, preventing her from lashing out or resisting. She squirms in his arms and seethes, grinding her teeth, but he strokes her back with gentle circles and whispers in her ear, a murmuring hum that calms her. The raw panic dies away, replaced by the knowledge that he is keeping her safe, keeping her alive, in the only way she knows how. She stops struggling, and another one of the Dauntless soldiers grabs her, twisting her arm behind her back and marching her toward the same guarded central compound where they are keeping everyone else they haven't killed. She wonders how they decide who lives and who dies. Guilt feels cold and heavy in her stomach, a familiar sensation, but now, for perhaps the first time in her life, she does not fight against it. It belongs there. She dives deeper into it as she walks, pushed forward by the Dauntless soldiers who say nothing to her.

"They're taking out all the leaders," Tobias observes. His voice sounds dull and hollow. Beatrice nods, to acknowledge his comment, as her stomach squirms because it _makes sense_. The only thing that doesn't is _why_. Why would Dauntless slaughter the unresisting innocent citizens of Abnegation? They must be planning to take out the other factions as well. Amity must be next, because they too are easy to mow down. Perhaps there are other squads of Dauntless already there. Beatrice ought to care about that, but her capacity for caring has been stretched beyond its limit. She is empty.

When they get to the meeting hall, the Dauntless shoves her into a corner of the same room where earlier that day she'd been initiated into Abnegation. It is even more crowded now, and the atmosphere is heavy with a subdued, silent fear. Small children huddle up with their families, or in small groups under the watchful eye of older teenagers. Beatrice scans the room, looking for people she knows. There are far too many missing. She does not realize it at first, but she is looking for her father. When she doesn't find him, she curls up into a tight ball with her knees drawn up against her chest and stares at nothing and wishes she could do what Tobias can do, and lose herself for awhile. _His _father is safe, sitting a few feet away from them under the watchful eyes of the Dauntless guards that loom over them all. Beatrice studies Marcus and feels the rage kindling under her ribcage again. _We need him_, echoes the voice in her head yet again, as she tries to squirm out from under it. She is aware that the Dauntless must need him for something too. She doesn't know what. She doesn't care. The ugly part of her that she no longer has the strength to fight hopes it's something painful.

Tobias sits nearby, tossing his knife back and forth between his fingers. His eyes track the Dauntless soldiers pacing the far end of the room. The soldiers do not look at him; they do not see the knife. Marcus does. He scowls at his son, but Tobias catches his eye and doesn't look away, doesn't even falter in his rhythm of flipping and catching. Beatrice sucks in a cautious breath and drums her fingers against her knee, wondering if Marcus will respond to Tobias' newfound sullen defiance, wondering if it will draw the attention of the Dauntless if he does.

She is watching him carefully enough to notice his eyes widen briefly and his fingers curl into a fist. Through her peripheral vision, she notes Tobias' sudden lack of movement. He freezes, with the knife still balanced between his fingers. But he and Marcus are no longer looking at each other; they aren't looking at her either. She follows their gaze, tilting her head up to see a woman in Erudite blue glaring down at them.

The respect and manners that have been drilled into her demand that Beatrice ought to stand up and acknowledge a Faction Leader, but she doesn't move. She barely breathes. She's not sure if she could haul herself to her feet if she wanted to.

The Erudite Leader's name is Jeanine Matthews, and Beatrice doesn't know anything about her except that her parents despised everything she stood for. They hated her in that quiet Abnegation way, which involves a lot of _not saying_ a lot of things. Marcus was much more vocal: still terse and polite, but he attacked and argued with her nearly every time they were ever forced to interact in government meetings, and Beatrice knows this because her father wasn't Candor, but he didn't hide much from her anyway, or lie. At her side, Marcus grinds his teeth and begins an awkward struggle to stand that is immediately aborted by a Dauntless soldier.

For a moment, Beatrice hears nothing but his ragged breathing. Then he spits at the ground. "What've you done, Jeanine?!"

Beatrice frowns, the questions whirring in her brain, slamming against the walls of her mind, unable to make sense of what he's asking. It's only when Jeanine begins to respond that the fragments click into place and she understands: the Dauntless are not the ones behind the attack. They are under the control of the Erudite.

Jeanine is the reason her mother is dead.

"You're looking for the ones who'll resist," Marcus determines. "The ones you can't control."

"Yes," Jeanine replies calmly. "The Divergent."

Her eyes flicker over Beatrice and Tobias from behind her thick glasses, and her mouth twitches into a disturbing smile.


	9. For Your Own Good

Beatrice feels the familiar frozen squirm of guilt twisting up inside her stomach, but she shuts it down. She crushes the memory of her aptitude test and its fear and uncertainty and the secrets she's been forced to keep since then; smashes them all together into a tiny ball that she can stuff behind the reinforced wall in her mind. Tobias reaches out for her hand. She grabs it, clings to it. It keeps her centered even though it draws Jeanine's immediate attention. She frowns down at them with that same disapproving look the teachers in school all used when their students failed to grasp the lesson even after they explained it multiple times, or when they asked questions that were termed "irrelevant" even though everybody knew that what they really meant was "stupid." Nobody _liked _school except the Erudite, which is what all the teachers were anyway. Even though Beatrice was good at remembering most of the answers but didn't raise her hand. She steals another glance at Tobias and sees the way his eyes narrow as he studies Jeanine - and that is what he's doing: _studying _her, looking for weaknesses, trying to figure out her plan - and she knows immediately that he must've been the same way.

And with that knowledge comes a flash of recognition; another question, another _fear_. It escapes before she can grab hold of it. And Jeanine's smile grows larger. "Oh yes, Beatrice Prior. I know all about your "inconclusive" test results. Studying you will be very helpful indeed. And you too, Tobias Eaton. I'm curious about you as well. How did you manage to keep yourself hidden so completely?"

"I'm not a... whatever you said," Tobias answers immediately.

"Divergent," Marcus announces. Tobias spins around to look at his father. But he does not let go of Beatrice's hand. "Yes, Tobias, you are."

"It almost worked, you know," Jeanine says approvingly. Her eyes hold steady on Marcus now, talking over Beatrice and Tobias like they're not even there.

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Tobias snaps.

Marcus sighs, and he almost, _almost,_ sounds apologetic. Or maybe, still, just tired. "Sometimes pain is for the greater good," he breathes. Words he's said before, words Beatrice has _heard_ before, in sermons she only half-listened to in faction meetings, before she'd ever met Tobias or understood that to Marcus Eaton it might be a lot more than just a phrase or a metaphor.

The words trigger something in Tobias, a reaction that explodes before Beatrice can do a thing to stop it. He lets go of her hand and draws his arm back. His fist connects with his father's jaw, and Marcus is suddenly sprawled on the ground.

"How _dare_ you." Tobias is not shouting. His voice is that dangerous quiet that Beatrice has already learned to fear. Marcus understands the warning too well, because his son learned it from him. "You don't get to talk to me about pain."

"Tobias, _I'm_ _your father_!" Marcus demands. The words should sound pathetic coming from his bloody mouth, but somehow they make him even more intimidating; almost Dauntless. He hauls himself to his feet and stands just out of Tobias' reach. Marcus neither reaches out for his son nor threatens him. Everything in his body language reacts to Tobias as he would a stranger. But his voice still shakes, still breaks a little. His voice gives him away. "Everything I did was to protect you."

"She said it almost worked," Beatrice whispers, as Tobias keeps his fists clenched tightly and refuses to acknowledge his father. It sickens her, but behind that revulsion, the logical part of her brain whirs and clicks and _understands_. How do you score Abnegation? By being _so afraid _of letting your selfish instincts shine through that you hide them. Even from yourself.

"I scored Abnegation," Tobias insists.

"Of course you did," Jeanine concedes, utterly unfazed by the sudden spat of violence erupting beneath her predator's gaze. But then she would be, wouldn't she? What's a fist fight, after ordering an entire faction's death?

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear casually and nods to Tobias. "You scored Abnegation. And Dauntless."

Beatrice frowns. Tori told her, when she took the test, gave her the word that explained all of her _not belonging_, gave her the warning to hide it, _no matter what_.

But Tobias just shakes his head, looking shaken.

"Who administered your test, Tobias?" Jeanine asks calmly.

He glances up, the confusion in his eyes slowly changing to dawning recognition. "An Erudite," he breathes. "And he told _you_, but he never told me! What my real results were. That there was a chance..."

Jeanine nods, when that infuriating condescending teacher smile on her face. "So you see. It _almost _worked."

"Things got out of my control, Tobias," Marcus demands shakily. "I never meant..."

"Shut up!" Tobias screams. "Shut up! Nothing got out of your control, it was _your choice_."

"No," Marcus replies calmly. "It was yours."

Tobias' eyes widen, and he crumples, collapsing in on himself. When Beatrice grabs his arm, he yanks it away, and his eyes search for his father's. "You stopped," he whispers. And Marcus nods.

Beatrice squirms, utterly _sick _of not having the slightest idea what's going on in this conversation that's happening in layer that twist and tangle out of her reach. "What're you talking about?" she demands.

"After the aptitude test," Tobias explains. He sounds as though he's still working it out for himself, more than for her benefit. "After I chose Abnegation. The whippings only started again when I started spending time with you."

The knowledge - the _guilt_ - hits Beatrice like a punch to the gut. _Her fault. _Everything. The pain and the fearful panic he tried so hard to hide, the clenched teeth and tears he was too exhausted to bother hiding, the bruises and welts she couldn't do a thing to fix. Her fault, and he came to her anyway. "You never said..." she mutters, as if that excuses it.

Tobias shakes his head. "I didn't think it mattered. It _doesn't _matter," he corrects, glaring at Marcus. "It doesn't change anything."

"You're right about that," Jeanine agrees calmly. "It doesn't change anything at all."

Her spidery fingers clamp around Beatrice's wrist, and warnings and memories scream and twist in her brain. _Divergent_.

Whatever she is, whatever _they _are... it's dangerous enough to make Tobias' father try to beat it out of him. It's dangerous enough to hide, to lie about, to _kill for_. And now she is trapped at the mercy of an Erudite who knows far more about what it means than she may ever get the chance to learn.


	10. Erudite

"Tobias?"

"Mmm?"

He cradles her against her body and she lets him, tucking her head into the curve of his shoulder, trying to ignore the pain and cresting waves of fear, panic clawing at her stomach. _He's still here. _"Why did you..." she whispers. She can't finish the question. She tells herself it's because her throat hurts when she tries to talk, but the truth is more complicated. She can't remember what she was trying to ask. Her thoughts are muddled. Her face is wet from tears she can't cry anymore, she is empty. She's been empty for a long time. Days, maybe. It feels like days.

Memories rip at her mind; images, sounds... the ghost of her mother's touch, and her eyes closing, and Beatrice wants to scream again. Her stomach roils and she wretches, heaving and shaking in Tobias' arms. She hasn't eaten. She has nothing left to vomit, which is good, because if she had it would have ended up all over Tobias. Her clothes are already stained, from when she got sick in the Erudite's "testing room." She's covered in blood too, from her trek across the city. Most of it isn't hers. Jeanine hurts her with wire and lights, with pictures and whispers and fragments of questions. Beatrice glances down, at her forearm, where a red patch of abraded skin shows where leather straps had kept her bound. And she squeezes her eyes shut again and wants to cry but doesn't. Her thundering heartbeat echoes back in her ears, along with other sounds: a door latching closed, the crack of leather, and she blinks again and frowns at the mark on her wrist and she _knows _where it comes from and she knows it isn't the same, but her memories mix and blend with Tobias' now, until she can't separate them anymore and _this is for your own good_ and squirming and fighting and clawing and crying and he's holding her still, lashing the belt down again and again until she stops fighting, until she doesn't _care _anymore...

Until she wakes up alone, in the dark.

And it hurts. And it hurts but it isn't real, but it _is._

"Interesting."

Beatrice frowns. Her eyes blink back tears as bright light streams in, she struggles to pull herself up, but the restraints are _still holding her_. She tracks the sound of the voice, finds Jeanine leaning casually over a bank of computers: pictures and charts that Beatrice can't make any sense of.

"We'll have to run it again, of course," the Erudite leader says to the tech sitting in front of the screen. "Use another landscape as a control. But _this one_ is special, I think."

"What're you talking about?" Beatrice asks. Her voice sounds still sounds quiet, hoarse and confused, and all tangled up.

Jeanine takes a few steps over to her and leans over, pursing her lips. "What makes you think I'll tell you?"

"You're Erudite," Beatrice responds, immediately. She's still tied down into the chair, the wires still dangling from her temples, but she feels _stronger_ now, more in control. She can separate the thinking-part of her brain from the feeling-part. It's _hard_, but she can do it if she tries. She looks at the pieces, spread out in front of her, like solving a puzzle. Jeanine is _talking to her_, and that means she's willing to give something up. She's got a weakness just as glaringly obvious as anything she sees in her fancy tests. More so. Beatrice tells herself that the pain and the fear _isn't real, _not anymore. She pushes it away, and forces her voice not to shake. She refuses to look away from the woman who tortures her just because it makes for a neat science experiment. "You can't withhold information," she demands, with all the authority of her Erudite teachers, or her parents. Or Marcus, the voice in her head, _this is for your own good... _Beatrice takes a quick breath and blows it out. _Not real_. Not-Feeling. "You _can't _withhold information," she repeats. "It's not allowed."

Jeanine's eyes narrow, and she turns back to the scans and blinking lights of her monitors. "Information must always be made available to _faction members_," Jeanine quotes, from the Erudite manifesto. "That doesn't include you, Beatrice Prior."

"Bur it could've."

"What?"

"My aptitude test. I scored equally high for Abnegation and Dauntless, _and Erudite_. I could've picked any of them. You know it too. You _know _I'm smart enough. Whatever... _information _you have, it's _about me_. You _have to _tell me. Because you want to _understand _me, right? How my brain works? How Divergence works. What if I help you understand?"

Beatrice sees the flickering light, the spark catching behind Jeanine's eyes, and she _knows _she has her. The woman is predicable; too much so. _Information_ is the one thing she won't be able to walk away from, not ever.

But she's still smiling, like she's just _won _something. She gives Beatrice a curt nod. Her false sweetness makes it feel like something's crawling beneath Beatrice's skin, an infection at the place where Jeanine's fingers brush over the wires tangled around her forehead, pulling them away. "What's _interesting_ is that you don't fight the simulation, my dear. Not that one. When we trigger Tobias Eaton's fear landscape, you... well..." she smiles her sickening smile, and Beatrice squirms and the straps hold her down and she stills herself before she starts to choke again, and Jeanine is still _watching_, with that unblinking stare. "You _lose youself_. It is the _only _time I have seen you revert to a truly Abnegation-oriented response. You're not Divergent in that landscape. Not even close. It's the key to controlling you. _All _of you."

"The Divergent?"

"The Abnegation." Her heels click as she walks away, back to the door that Beatrice knows leads to another watching-room, one-way glass. But she turns back before the door slides open. "I am of course, very curious how such a strategy will influence your father."


	11. No Matter What

"Don't!"

Jeanine shakes her head, and sighs. "It's not up to you, little one. It's up to him."

"I'm _not _a little girl!"

Jeanine shrugs. It doesn't matter to her one way or the other.

Andrew Prior glances up, and his eyes somehow pierce through the one-way glass to stare directly into Beatrice's. Or at least that's what it feels like. She squirms, and looks down, at the swirly patterns on the carpet, at her dirty, ripped-apart shoes. She can't look at her father, not now, not after he _knows_.

She starts to shiver, it gets harder to breathe.

"Run it again," Jeanine repeats, calmly.

"No!"

Jeanine ignores her. Beatrice watches helplessly through the glass as her father begins to sweat, to shake, to scream and thrash against the tight straps keeping him tied to the chair, to fight against invisible threats Beatrice doesn't have to see because she _knows them_, in her heart, in the deepest parts of her brain, all the secrets she worked so hard to hide spilling out in front of her eyes. Because the fear landscape Jeanine is using to break her father is _hers_. And he must hate her now; now that he knows the truth.

She glances back, to the young Erudite controlling the simulation. He can see it too, connected to it all through the wires and screens beneath his fingertips, and when it ends, he calmly removes the headband that connects him to the dreamscape illusions. He glances up at Beatrice, emotionless and unshaken. She holds her breath, waiting for a reaction, but none comes.

"How can you _do_ this?" she asks sharply, all venom and fire. But her voice trembles, because couldn't he ask her the same thing? "Caleb, _please_."

Her brother holds her gaze, and gives her that same damned disapproving look he always used at the dinner table, or on the bus. The one that says she should _know better_. He's barely a year older than she is, but she'd always been more afraid of disappointing him than their parents. Only now...

"Mom's _dead_, Caleb!" She draws in a shaky breath, pushing away the memories that threaten to drag her under. They hover close, scratching at the weakened barrier inside her mind. She focuses on her anger, pushing _outward_, so they can't reach her. "Mom's dead!" she screams, as Jeanine watches, having turned away from Andrew Prior to focus on his children, the little-girl Divergent who is _so close _to breaking. And the boy who has already submitted to her will. "She killed her!"

Why won't he _see_? How can he be _on her side_?

"She did not."

Caleb doesn't say anything else, but the finality of his silence and the way he looks at her is enough to make Beatrice swallow hard. She can't look at him either, because he's seen her landscape, and he knows... her fingers wrapped tightly around the gun, slick with blood, as their mother moaned and screamed and thrashed in pain _I love you no matter what_. And the blast of a gunshot, echoing back, repeating, until the silence when the sound finally dies, when _she_ finally dies, is worse.

"Beatrice, look at it logically."

"No!"

She explodes, catching all the bottled-up rage and wrongness that has haunted her all through her life in Abnegation. She hurls herself at her brother and lets her fists crash into him. She hits and kicks and doesn't think at all, just pummels him, raining down blows until she can't anymore.

When she slows, Caleb holds her arm, but not with any force. She could pull out of his grasp easily, if she wanted to. But she lets him hold onto her. She inhales huge gulping mouthfuls of air, and stares at him. Blood pours from his nose. As she watches, he holds it to stop the bleeding, but he says nothing.

"I _hate _you!" she screams.

He winces, or she thinks he does, but he still doesn't move, or say anything. And he may be responding to the pain instead of her words anyway. He _is _still bleeding. Beatrice frowns and stares at him and tries to feel bad about it, but can't. She thinks, in fact, that she's only getting angrier. She crosses her arms over her chest and listens to her thundering heartbeat. "Caleb..." she finally whispers.

She doesn't know what she's asking. Maybe, just for a minute, for things to be how they were before: when their mother was alive, before they were enemies. If, in fact, that is what they are.

Tears sting her eyes and she bites down hard on her lower lip before they can fall. She cannot afford to look any weaker than she already does in front of the Erudite. But she _cannot _look at this logically.

She steels herself and pushes against the heavy door that connects the watching-room to the tiny chamber where Andrew Prior is strapped to a familiar chair. He turns toward the sound of her entrance, struggles to pull himself up. Beatrice hurries toward him and unties the bindings and shakes and tries to breathe, but can't, because her apologies are all tangled up in her throat, and she can't talk her way out of this anyway.

The look in her father's eyes is haunted, and Beatrice flinches as he reaches out for her. But he only draws her to him, holds her close against his chest. She closes her eyes and breathes him in and starts crying again, she can't help it.

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and lifts her chin gently so that she is looking directly into his eyes. She stands there, frozen, as her stomach clenches because this kind of direct eye contact _hurts_. She doesn't want him to _see her,_ the truth of all the worst things she's done and _let happen. _She breaks away and looks down, at the trailing wires that coil into tangled loops at the base of the chair. Her father's hand slips to her shoulder, solid and warm the way she remembers it. But he can't stop its shaking.

"Beatrice," he whispers. "Listen to her words."

_I love you. No matter what._

"I don't deserve it," she demands.

His hug, his grip on her, is so tight that it chokes her, until she relaxes into it, and lets him support her. "I thought I taught you better than that," he says simply.

"Let the guilt teach you how to be better," she repeats, dully. His words, his admonitions, over and over again, until she learned to nod and make promises that she knew she could never keep, before she crawled into bed to punch her pillow (as hard as she'd just punched Caleb). Over and over, until her stomach stopped hurting. Until she could breathe, until she fell asleep without crying. Until she wasn't selfish anymore.

She repeats back the lie, because isn't that what he wants? She doesn't want to hurt him anymore.

Her father sighs. "Beatrice, _listen to me_. It _wasn't _your fault. You didn't kill her." She just shakes her head, because doesn't everything he's just seen prove that she _did_? "You know, when you chose Abnegation, I was so glad. So _selfishly _glad, that I wouldn't lose you. But still, I was sure you'd made the wrong choice."

More guilt squirms inside her stomach, more questions she's afraid to ask. The Erudite all already know the truth about her, that she's Divergent, but does her father? Does he know that everything Jeanine is doing to him is because of her?

"I was wrong though," he insists. Her eyes flicker up to meet his before she can stop herself. Curiosity and need overpower guilt and fear, for just this brief moment, however long it will last. "Beatrice, the thing you fear more than anything else is _other people hurting_. Me. And your mother. Even Caleb. And Tobias Eaton, too."

Tobias Eaton. Images flash through her mind, through her _body_, pain and fear and helplessness, that impossible, unfightable _calm. _Her father _worked _with Marcus, every day for almost twenty years.

"Did you -?"

"No," Andrew replies, picking up on the question with surprising speed, before she even needs to ask it. "I promise you that if I had, it would not have continued." More guilt. She should've told, she should've trusted her father, she shouldn't have let...

Her father leans in close and presses his forehead to hers, his body blocking the ever-present watchers from seeing the movement of his lips. "They think that's how they'll win," he whispers. "But there is so much more to us than the things we are afraid of."

Beatrice's breath catches in her throat as more pictures float up into her mind; her mother, bleeding, dying... and the Dauntless tattoo marking her skin.

Her father squeezes her shoulder gently. "There are so many things I kept from you," he admits softly. "I shouldn't have. There is so much you need to know, so much _I _should have told you."

Panic rises before she can understand why, clawing at her before she realizes, with perfect clarity, that _this_ is why they didn't stop her from coming in here. They are still watching, through the glass. They are still listening. "Don't," she demands fiercely, pushing her father away. "Don't give them what they want."

Andrew blinks, shakes his head slowly. He takes a careful breath, and nods, before relaxing against the chair again.

"No matter what," he promises.


	12. Dauntless

The room is small. Not upstairs-closet small, but _almost_.

Tobias hammers at the walls with his fist, and kicks helplessly at the locked door. And collapses when he runs out of energy, staring at the pitch-black ceiling.

He knows the Erudite are still watching him, _studying _him. But he doesn't know what they _want_.

The door still doesn't open, though if he tries he can hear people moving in the hallway on the other side.

He curls up with his knees against his chest and tries to calm down, to remind himself that panicking won't do a single thing to help him. He curls his fingers into a fist and uncurls them again. Open. Shut. Inhale. Exhale. The darkness wraps around him like a silent blanket. He can't sleep. Adrenaline buzzes through him like a live wire. He sleeps in fits and starts, panic choking him anew every time he opens his eyes and remembers with sudden clarity that he _can't get out_, starting the cycle again: slamming himself with increasing frustration against the door that doesn't bend or break.

"Settle down, boy."

The instant he hears the voice he freezes, torn between cowering to protect himself and punching Marcus before making a run for it. The moment of indecision steals his chance, and (he hates to admit it), but his initial instinct wins anyway. He crosses his arms defensively over his chest, noticing as he does so that his hands sting and leave bloody trails over the fabric of his shirt. He doesn't look his father in the eye. And it takes _far _too long to register that Marcus holds nothing in his hands and is making no move to hit him. But then, the days when he fought back enough for Marcus to lash out in anger are _long _gone. The games they play now have much more complicated rules. Tobias still doesn't win, obviously. "What're you doing here?" he finally mutters.

Marcus sighs; that long, tired, heavy sound of pure exhaustion. When he speaks again, Tobias hears the tremor in his voice. "I need your help, Tobias."

The door behind him is open. The hallway is brightly lit, and empty, except for a couple of Erudite guards. Tobias focuses on that: light, and a way out, or at least closer than he was a minutes ago. He sneaks another glance at Marcus and he doesn't want to admit how _unsettled _it makes him that his father looks even more uncertain and terrified than he feels. Everything is spiraling rapidly out of control. He takes another breath, and nods. Sometimes a calm after the storm can last for days, for weeks. _Or maybe_, nags an insistent but important voice, _Marcus isn't your enemy now._

Marcus beckons him to follow, and Tobias does; their Erudite watchers close on their heels. He tries to pretend the scholars aren't _herding _them; that they're just like the students who holed up in the school library in jeans and blue tee-shirts or hoodies, sharing a pile of books between them. But he can't see them as non-threatening. And he refuses to let his guard down, even after they stop at a small table in a functional, sparsely decorated dining room that _looks _like the cafeteria at school. The tension in his body drains away (slightly. only slightly...) as he tucks his body into the steel and plastic chair. It annoys him how much his Abnegation-honed instincts are comforted by places like this, where it's easy to figure out what things are _for_. Marcus slides a bagel across the table, plain with nothing on it. Tobias takes a bite and murmurs a "thank you" without thinking about it. The words send a flicker of... _something_, across Marcus' face, just briefly. They startle him out of his distraction. Tobias huddles further into his chair and remembers that it's better when he's invisible, and silent. He munches on the bagel and waits for Marcus to talk.

"This was never about me, Tobias. This was never about any of us. Everything we've ever done has been about you. _For _you."

"Because I'm _special_, right?" Tobias spits. He has to work far too hard to convince himself that he isn't afraid of Marcus' reaction. But to his very great surprise, his father _agrees_.

"You are. More than you know. That's what Divergent means. You hold onto yourself despite every effort I've made to protect you from that dangerous trait. And I'm very, very sorry, but we're going to need that now."

"Cut the crap, Marcus. Exactly what are you asking for?"

His father raises an eyebrow at the use of his first name, out loud. But he lets that slide too, and settles back into his chair. "There are things that we've kept hidden -"

"Who's 'we'?"

"The government."

"The Abnegation leaders."

Marcus nods. They are, of course, the same thing. "Not just Abnegation. Every faction. All of us. We made a promise, years ago. And now, it seems, there are those who would choose power over truth."

Tobias shoots a glance over his shoulder at the Erudite. But they make no move to silence Marcus. They don't look remotely interested in anything he's saying. Tobias knows that's an illusion, of _course _they're listening. But probably they already know everything that Marcus is about to tell him. And no Erudite would keep information hidden. Not when it helps their cause.

_Power over truth. _He thinks about the aptitude test, how he'd lied, at first, but changed his mind at the last second. Even when it scared the crap out of him. And the only ones who do that are the Candor and the Abnegation. It is, he thinks, probably what tipped him over the edge: the reason his Erudite tester could give him the expected result without hesitating.

The Erudite tester who is not supposed to keep secrets, or withold facts. But somewhere along the line, Erudite figured out how to lie. "This information that you have. It's worth killing for?"

Marcus holds his son's gaze, and he nods. "It's worth _everything_," he says softly.

"And Jeanine wants it?"

Marcus shakes his head. "Jeanine has it. What she _wants _is to keep it hidden. I take away that option, by giving it to you." Marcus reaches across the table and shoves something into Tobias' hand. He lets his fingers curl around the crumpled up paper, and frowns. "Keep it safe," Marcus murmurs. "Open it when the time is right. You'll know."

He pushes himself up, and Tobias scrambles to follow him. "There's nothing left that I can do. Abnegation is already destroyed. If Jeanine wants to finish the job, I won't stop her."

He starts to walk. Tobias lets him. The Erudite guards watching them jump to attention, but wait, hesitant and uncertain. Their eyes flicker from Marcus to Tobias. He ignores them and watches the man he's been terrified of for as long as he can remember walk away. One step. Two. Three. Calm and unshaken as ever.

"Dad!" Marcus' step falters. But only for a second. "Dad, don't be _stupid_."

_Now_, he does stop. He turns back. "I _am_ sorry, Tobias," he whispers. "For everything."

"You're just gonna let her kill you? For nothing?!" Tobias tightens his fist, stuffed into the pocket of his Abnegation-gray jacket, whatever's on the paper his father just gave him safely hidden within.

"Not for nothing. To buy time. Abnegation doesn't exist anymore, that's the gift Jeanine gave us. You are all that's left, you, and the children who are uncontrolled: the Factionless and the Divergent. And _you _will get it right. I trust you, Tobias. Because everything you've ever done has only proven me wrong." His eyes move away from Tobias to the two Erudite teenagers who have been watching them, silently filing away a report of every word they've said. "Go with him," he orders. "If you stay here, you will be destroyed."

"You disappoint me, Marcus. I thought you of all people understood the necessity of keeping things under control."

Tobias whips his head around to find Jeanine standing casually in the doorway, blocking their exit. Behind her, a Dauntless soldier hovers, holding a gun.

"It's not _things _you're controlling, Jeanine," Marcus growls. "It's _people_."

Jeanine shrugs, her eyes lingering on Tobias. He has to work not to squirm under that gaze, which reminds him, unsettlingly, of Marcus at his worst. As if reading his mind, Jeanine smiles, wide and false. She nods toward Tobias. "If I asked him, what would he tell me? That you're _different_?"

"I'd tell you that at least he never murdered an entire faction," Tobias spits back harshly. "An entire city!"

Jeanine snorts. "Don't be so overdramatic, boy. The deaths of a few to save the many _is _indeed regrettable, but you can hardly claim that a few dozen casualties is equal to the destruction of the entire city. Even the majority of _Abnegation _is safe, unharmed. And more than willing to get back to their daily lives."

"Under _your _command?" Marcus asks.

"Under the _guidance _of someone who agrees to work for the greater good. I will keep them _safe_, Marcus. And happier than this broken government of enforced 'selflessness' has managed."

"I won't let you!" The voice resonates through the shocked silence, blasted away by the pop of gunfire that sounds far louder and more frightening,more dangerous and more _real, _ contained by four walls and a roof. As Tobias looks on, Jeanine crumbles, blood blooming from a hole in her chest.

The Erudite in the room _react_, grabbing Beatrice before Tobias can move, or _think_. One of them pulls the gun from her hand, holds it to her head. Tobias' heart thunders in his chest. "Don't!" he cries. "Don't shoot her!"

The Erudite's hazel eyes meet his, and narrow. He is human; thinking, analyzing, fully in control. It _terrifies _Tobias far more than the simulation-controlled Dauntless army that had brought them this far. The Erudite are not soldiers, but you don't have to be Dauntless to kill someone at point-blank range.

As Beatrice has proven. More than once.

He glances at Jeanine's unmoving body. So like Natalie Prior's. He shivers, and quickly looks away. Beatrice doesn't fight. She barely breathes. The gun hovers at her temple. And then drops away. "She's not worth dying for," the Erudite boy whispers.

"No," the other one adds coolly, _logically_. "Not if she's dead." He pushes Beatrice forward, and Tobias grabs her without thinking. He can feel her pulse, racing under his hand. "Get out of here," the boy adds.

"You could come with us," Beatrice tells him. "Wherever we end up, it's gonna take more than two people. To help each other, to break down the walls and build something new out of the best of the broken pieces? It's going to take _all of us_."

"I'm not one of you," the Erudite insists. He still holds the gun in his hand. But Tobias can read the lie easily.

"I think you are," he says evenly. "Anyway, we _all _are now. Factionless and Divergent. Uncontrolled."

Marcus takes the gun from the Erudite boy; he gives it up easily. Beatrice tenses, but Tobias nods, and blows out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Building something new out of the best of the broken pieces: Abngegation is more than selfish grudges, more than pride. And more than fear. And the first step toward something new is forgiveness.


	13. Epilogue: Nothing is Destroyed

"Energy can never be created, or destroyed; it can only be changed from one form to another."  
- Albert Einstein

As Tobias runs his hand in slow circles over Beatrice's back, he opens up the paper Marcus gave him with his other hand, spreading it open over his leg. A hand drawn map, guiding them over the fence. Away from the city. Out into the world that holds whatever his parents, along with an entire generation of adults, decided to shut themselves away from, and hide from their children. No matter what.

Beatrice frowns and studies the lines. They both understand that the map doesn't help much. It's all an _idea_, nothing solid, except whatever _they decide_ to build.

But isn't that what the Factions were, too? One choice changes everything.

She glances up to where her father and Caleb are talking, softly, a few feet away. She can hear a few words here and there, over the crackle of the campfire. A serious, logical discussion; heated, but not angry. Earlier that day, as they walked, Andrew Prior and Marcus Eaton had taken turns passing on the information Jeanine wanted to contain. Caleb had asked questions, constantly, while Beatrice just listened half-heartedly and wondered why any of it _mattered_. The knowledge of others outside in a world even more broken than theirs doesn't seem like enough to make everything they've _lost_ worthwhile.

She watches her family (incomplete, her mother is still dead, her _absence_ is still a wall that pushes Beatrice away from feeling comfortable, or safe), and she can't help but remember the terror and panic of the fear landscapes _Caleb_ induced, using her secrets and fears to torture their father. Her stomach hurts. Her hand curls into a fist before she realizes what she's doing. She glances down, but doesn't relax. She lets her fingers, in their tight ball, rest against her stomach. The heaviness of their weight helps.

Andrew looks up, and gives her a small smile. _I love you no matter what._ She squeezes her eyes shut to stop herself from crying and shakes her head. He's forgiven Caleb already, easily. And he's forgiven her for not saving Natalie. Her parents are _so_ much better than she is.

"You think it's true?" she asks, so softly Tobias can barely hear her. Her words are swallowed by the heavy air, like a ghost. He pulls her closer against his body, and listens. "I mean... all of this... _hope_, that they're pinning on us? This idea that we can save the world that _they_ broke? I don't feel _that_ special."

Tobias laughs, an exhalation of tension that he doesn't deserve but can't hold back. He squeezes her shoulder gently. "You are," he tells her, honestly. "And I don't know about anybody else, but I trust you."

"Why?"

The seriousness of her voice brings him back down to reality, hard. He traces his thumb along her jawline and draws her lips up to meet his. She closes her eyes as he kisses her, long and slow, breathing in everything that is her until he's forced to break for air.

"Because..." he stumbles, tripping over what he's trying to say. He wants to tell her she's brave, and strong, and that she shouldn't have to _ask_ why she's special. But he can't find the words.

He sees it instead in images, memories of touch: the warmth of her body against his on the rooftop when both of them were desperate for belonging, her gentle touch when all he needed was to feel _something,_ to remind himself that he was no longer invisible.

He glances quickly across the circle of the fire, to where Marcus is sitting, eating something out of a can and waiting for Tobias to come to him with a plan. They still don't _talk_, except in terse words, here and there. But Tobias isn't afraid of him anymore, he isn't angry. And he hasn't forgotten that Beatrice is the one who stopped him from shooting his father. Maybe the first thing you rebuild is a family.

"You helped me," he finally says.

It's simple. And it's enough.


End file.
